


John takes care of Sherlock

by accidentallyonpurpose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Ice Play, Light BDSM, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sensation Play, Wax Play, john is stern but gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyonpurpose/pseuds/accidentallyonpurpose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a bit not good on a crime scene, and John takes him in hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John takes care of Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and comment at your leisure!

“Sherlock!” John barked. “On your knees!” The duo had just arrived at their flat, hot on the heels of a case. It had been a tense and quiet cab ride home.  
“But John-“  
“No! I don’t want to hear it. Knees, right now.”   
Sherlock, staring stonily at John, gracefully sunk to his knees, hands resting on top of his thighs. “You’re wrong.”  
John eyebrow shot up to his hairline. “Oh really?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well I am unimpressed right now, and I refuse to deal with you when I don’t have a clear head, for your safety and mine. So, I’m going to go make tea for both of us while you think on how our following conversation is going to go. We’ll be discussing your actions today and the punishment for those actions. You’ve got five minutes.” Unable to resist, he ran a hand soothingly through Sherlock’s curls before turning and pacing into the kitchen. He took his coat off in the kitchen and slung it on the back of one of the chairs, realizing that Sherlock still had his coat and scarf on but deciding he wouldn’t overheat in the next five minutes.   
John meticulously made tea, watching the clock and emerging exactly five minutes later with two mugs of warm tea, doctored to each of their preferences. Sherlock hadn’t moved from his position but his hands were tapping impatiently on top of his thighs, his eyes focused on the middle distance.   
“Sherlock,” John called softly. His eyes focused on John and his hands stilled, curling into fists on his thighs. “Time to talk. Do you want to be at my feet or in your chair?”  
“Chair,” he responded, his voice gentle.  
“Alright, up you come.” John inclined his head towards their chairs, hands still full with their mugs. The choice of the chair told John that this discussion was to start out with them as equals. Sherlock shed his coat and scarf and left them draped carefully on his chair. They both took their respective seats, John placing their mugs on the small table between the two chairs. “So?”  
“Yes?”  
“Do you know why we’re in this position?”  
“No, John.”  
“What about the comments you made earlier today? To Lestrade? Not to mention running off without any backup after an armed criminal.”   
Sherlock paused for a moment, running over the things he said earlier that day. Stalling for time, he reached forward for his mug of tea and took a sip. Most of it was the typical, pointing out his lower intelligence, commenting on his ruined marriage, etcetera, and he couldn’t pinpoint where the tipping point was.   
“Nothing comes to mind, John.”  
“Really? Nothing? What about when you outed Lestrade in front of all Scotland Yard? Does that ring a bell?”  
Ah. “I did not know that was a private fact,” Sherlock responded honestly.   
“Yeah, well that was a bit not good, Sherlock. And that on top of all the other things you said…”  
“I’m sorry, John.”  
“I know, love. And I’ll take that into account. Now to address your rushing off after an armed criminal. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
“No, John. I saw an opportunity to catch a known criminal and took it. I’m sorry I caused you to worry but I’m not sorry about my actions, seeing as I managed to catch the killer.”  
“And waiting didn’t occur to you?”  
“If I had waited, he would have escaped.”  
“And that’s what you meant by I’m wrong earlier, isn’t it? Because I thought you had run off for the thrill of the chase, and that’s it?”  
“Well, I did do it for that as well,” Sherlock admitted.  
John took a moment to let that sink in. “Alright. Well. Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to march poste haste into that bedroom, strip and lay on the bed. I’ll be right behind you, I’ve got to collect some things first.” Putting his mug back on the table, Sherlock stood fluidly and crossed to their bedroom, leaving the door open on his way through. John watched him go, admiring the view before it disappeared behind the doorframe. Then he stood and, leaving his untouched tea on the table, went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass full of ice, a non-scented candle, a lighter and a cloth. He went to the bathroom and collected two rolls of tenser bandage and proceeded to the bedroom.   
The sight that met him when he walked into the bedroom warmed his heart. Although he was undoubtedly still upset at Sherlock, he was proud of his boy for accepting his punishment without much fuss. Sherlock was stretched out on the bed, pale skin only broken by the narrow trail of hair leading to a thicker thatch at his crotch. Licking his lips, John stalked over to the side of the bed and laid his items on the side table beside the alarm clock.   
“Alright, we’re going to start with your hands. Before we begin, tell me what your safeword is?”  
“Microscope.”  
“And you know you can use the traffic light system if at any time you feel unsafe, without repercussion, right?”  
“Yes, John.”   
“Good boy. Now, what’s going to happen is I’m going to wrap your hands and then tie the to the bed. Here we go.” Taking Sherlock’s left hand, he kissed it before taking one roll of bandage, closing Sherlock’s hand into a fist and winding the bandage tightly around his hand. When he had run out of bandage, he tucked the loose end into one of the layers of bandage and moved onto the next hand. He did the same for the other hand and placed them above Sherlock’s head. “I’m going to go to the closet to get the rope. Okay?”  
“Yes, John.” He quickly fetched the rope and returned to the bed, making short work of tying Sherlock’s hands to the corresponding bedposts and stretching them to the point that there was a slight strain on Sherlock’s shoulders.   
“Good boy,” John ran his hand over Sherlock’s dark curls before dropping a kiss on his forehead. “Now, do you need a gag today, or can you be a good boy and stay quiet for me?”   
“I can be quiet, John,” Sherlock mumbled.  
“Good boy.” Reaching over to the side table, he picked up the glass full of ice and held it in front of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock whimpered. “I see you know what’s coming next,” John said. “I’ve got seven ice cubes in this glass. Every time one slips off, it’s a drop of wax on another part of your body and the ice gets replaced. Got it?”  
“Yes, John.” John reached down and pulled out an ice cube; because they had been sitting on the table while John was doing Sherlock’s hands, they were already starting to melt. John dropped the ice cube into the dip of Sherlock’s shoulder. He jolted a little, struggling to stay still despite the sharp bite of the ice cube. He huffed out a breath through his nose, not saying anything.  
John dropped an ice cube in the opposite shoulder before moving down and dropping an ice cube on one side of his hip. Sherlock inhaled sharply and let out a hum.   
“Careful there.” Sherlock immediately stopped humming. John continued on his merry way, putting an ice cube on the other hip and landing one on each thigh. “Okay, last one.” Holding up the last ice cube, John placed it carefully in Sherlock’s navel. Jerking, Sherlock took deep breaths through his nose. Chest heaving, Sherlock felt the icy slide of the ice cube on his left shoulder slowly slide off, a trickle of water tickling down his armpit.   
“You were doing so well,” John said mournfully. “That’s one drop of wax.” Circling around the bed, John picked up the ice cube and laid a kiss on Sherlock’s shoulder before replacing the ice cube.   
John circled back around the bed and took up the lighter, holding the flame to the wick. It caught quickly, turning the hard wax steadily into liquid.   
“What’s your colour?” John asked brusquely.   
“Green,” Sherlock said from behind a clenched jaw.  
“Good boy.” John picked up the candle, swirling the liquid wax in it and blowing out the wick. He moved the wax around a little more, cooling it off slightly before quickly letting a drop fall onto Sherlock’s hardened nipple. Sherlock let out another whimper, hands trying to move and toes wiggling uncontrollably.   
“Do I have to bind your feet too?” John asked, immediately liking the idea of Sherlock’s long, elegant feet wrapped up in pretty ribbons.  
“No John, sorry John,” Sherlock immediately bit out. The ice cubes were now a little more than half melted, leaving trails of water sluicing down the planes of his chest, down his hipbones towards his pelvis, and down to the back of his knees; they simultaneously tickled and bit at his sensitive skin.   
One of the ice cubes on his hipbone started moving, slowly creeping down towards his crotch. It came to a stop at the tangle of dark pubic hair, leaving rivulets of water tracing towards his penis. Sherlock whimpered, slamming his eyes shut for a minute until it stopped moving.  
“Hm. This leaves us with an interesting choice, one I’ll let you decide. Either I leave that right there and you let it finish melting, or I move it and you get another drop of wax.” The ice cube was excruciatingly cold against Sherlock’s sensitive skin, making the choice easy for him.  
“Move it.”  
“Pardon?” John asked drily, one eyebrow hitching up.  
“Move it, John. Please.”  
“That’s better.” John lit the candle again in preparation before picking up the ice cube and putting it back in it’s spot.  
The wax quickly liquefied this time, easily running down the candle when John tipped it.  
“What’s your colour?”  
“Green, John.”  
Without another word, John blew out the candle and waited a second before tipping it over Sherlock’s other nipple, watching the transparent liquid slowly turn opaque as it hardened on Sherlock’s dusky nipple.  
“Relax, beautiful,” John soothed, running his hand through Sherlock’s hair. “You’re doing great.” Sherlock let some of the tension from the case seep out of his muscles, closing his eyes. “You better not be going to your mind palace,” John cautioned.  
“No John,” Sherlock answered, opening his eyes to prove he was being good.  
“Good boy. Just listen to my voice and focus on the sensations covering your body. Focus on the ice cold water covering your body, the tightness of the wax sealing your nipples, your beautiful flushed face growing hotter and hotter.”   
Sherlock squirmed under the descriptions, locking his glacial eyes on John’s as the last vestiges of all the ice cubes slid out of place, melting into oblivion as they went.   
“You were so close, Sherlock,” John lamented. “But that was definite movement from the ice cubes, and since there’s nothing left to replace, I’m going to have to come up with one more atonement. I’m going to heat up the candle one more time, and drop wax onto those gorgeously squirming feet, then you’re going to lay there perfectly still for one whole minute, focusing on relaxing. Then your punishment will be over.” John hadn’t asked a question so Sherlock didn’t answer, staring resolutely at the ceiling and bracing himself.   
John reached for the candle and lit it one last time. Sitting by Sherlock’s feet for a minute, he held the candle upright and let it gather a considerable amount of liquefied wax before swiftly blowing it out and tipping it over, letting wax drip liberally down Sherlock’s toes and the pad of his foot, dripping down to his heel. John did the same to the other foot, running out of wax before it could reach the heel.   
“The clock starts now, Sherlock.” John glanced down at his watch, noting the time. Then he settled in to watch Sherlock try his hardest not to squirm at the myriad of physical sensations plaguing him. Sherlock made eye contact once more with John, taking strength in the pride and trust that he found there. John glanced down at his watch. “Halfway there, love.” The last thirty seconds passed in complete silence, Sherlock focusing on simultaneously not moving and releasing the tension in his muscles. He felt himself start to float into a shallow version of subspace.  
“Alright, love, you’re all done. I’m so proud of you.” John untied Sherlock’s hands from the posts, holding the individually bound hands in his own. He started working the bindings free when Sherlock pulled his hand out of John’s.  
“Can I keep these for a while?”  
John smiled at him. “Sure, for another half hour. Then we’ve got to get them out and moving. Let me just clean you up here, love.” Grabbing the cloth he had brought from the kitchen, John carefully wiped the water and wax off of Sherlock’s skin, running his hands over the cooler than normal flesh.   
“Sex now or later? Or at all?” John asked when he had finished rubbing Sherlock dry. He noted that Sherlock’s penis was flaccid, but figured he should ask anyway.  
“Maybe later. I am too tired now. I’d like to cuddle, if you’re amenable.”  
“I’m always amenable, you great git. Come here. I love you.” Taking Sherlock into his arms, John laid them down so they were both on their sides facing each other, Sherlock’s head tucked in the crook of his neck. John was grateful that Sherlock had chosen sleep- it had been a long, sleepless case and they both desperately needed the rest. And with that thought and Sherlock’s quiet, even breaths in his ear, John fell asleep.


End file.
